


loud and clear

by nighimpossible



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-15 12:25:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16933221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighimpossible/pseuds/nighimpossible
Summary: Every week since the beginning of Gren’s captivity, Viren has had Gren write a letter to Amaya about how the hunt for her nephews is going. The letter is then poured over for any kinds of secret messages, and if a particular sentence is deemed too suspicious, Gren must start afresh.Any hint at subterfuge must be very carefully hidden.





	loud and clear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anthean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthean/gifts).



> I love the Dragon Prince and I was so excited to have the opportunity to write in that fandom for Yuletide this year! Hope you enjoy this, anthean!!

Gren isn’t sure how long he’s been kept in captivity, as the days tend to melt into each other below ground. He marks time by the pain that radiates down his legs and the new scars that Viren adorns upon his skin whenever he comes to call. Whatever Viren did to the Moonshadow elf had only spurred his natural cruelties: perhaps if King Harrow were still alive, Viren would come to his sense. But without the steadfast king holding the reins in place, Viren has been unleashed. Maybe he’s always been this way and hidden it well, or maybe something broke inside him when Harrow died. Gren isn’t sure he cares at this point.

 

Gren has long been stripped of his protective armor once gifted to him by Amaya herself. His underclothes barely protect him from the sharp knives of Viren’s merciless torture. Gren wouldn’t be surprised if he too ended up trapped in a golden coin eventually.

 

For now, though, Virion needs him. It makes Gren sick at the thought.

 

“It’s time for another letter, Lieutenant,” Virion calls out as he descends the stairs, the _clack_ of his boots clicking the cobbled stone with each step. Gren has learned to hate that sound. “I’m certain General Amaya is _dying_ to hear more about how you’re leading the rescue mission. You’ll be sure to let her know how Ezran slipped _right_ out of your grasp yesterday—and how you’re determined to keep the chase going.”

 

Every week since the beginning of Gren’s captivity, Viren has had Gren write a letter to Amaya about how the hunt for her nephews is going. The letter is then poured over for any kinds of secret messages, and if a particular sentence is deemed too suspicious, Gren must start afresh. Any hint at subterfuge must be very carefully hidden.

 

Viren has two guards behind him with swords at the ready. One steps forward and clicks a key into Gren’s right manacle, releasing the locking mechanism with a few short clicks. As his wrist slips out of the metal, Gren hisses in pain. His skin is raw and bloodied from where his bindings have chafed him. He now hangs by his left arm limply, and _gods_ —his shoulder isn’t meant to hold his bodyweight. Gren hears a whimper and realizes a moment later that the sound came from _him_.

 

“Write,” Viren commands, handing over a quill. One of the guards has a piece of parchment on a small podium set up just within arm’s reach.

 

Gren doesn’t take the quill, but instead spits on the ground at Viren’s feet. It takes more energy than Gren can spare, but he does it anyway because _screw_ that guy. The last letter he wrote had made his skin crawl. The idea of tricking Amaya is completely anathemous to Gren from the get-go, and being forced to do it over and over again makes Gren physically sick. “I think I’m done lying for you, Viren.”

 

Viren has his hand around Gren’s throat in a flash. The pain as Viren’s nails dig into his skin is only second to the stars that begin to flit at the edges of Gren’s eye-line. Just as Gren is certain he’ll pass out, Viren lets go. Gren gasps for air, choking wetly as oxygen fills his lungs once more. “No one said you had a choice, Lieutenant.”

 

Someone puts the quill in Gren’s hand.

 

Gren writes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Dear General,_

 

_I hope all is well at the Border. The search for Callum and Ezran continues. We got word that the children had escaped westward into the neighboring human kingdoms and moved the search party accordingly. Still no sign of them, but I believe we’re close to the end of our mission._

 

_Stay safe._

 

_Yours,_

_Gren_

 

 

* * *

 

 

The manacles have stopped hurting Gren’s wrists.

 

He’s fairly certain that’s a bad thing—the whole _being past the point of pain_ thing.

 

Gren has been drifting in and out of consciousness for what feels like the last day or so. He’s lost his sense of time, however, considering the lack of sun below Katolis Castle. Maybe it’s been a day, maybe it’s been a month. Viren hasn’t had him write a letter for a while, at least. Gren blinks as the light in the dungeon appears dimmer to his eyes. Perhaps a torch went out.

 

Gren misses Amaya bitterly. Truth be told, he can’t remember a time they’ve been separated so this long since King Harrow had assigned Gren to her service.

 

 _Greetings, General,_ he had informed her in his stilted, exceedingly formal sign language.  _I have been requested as your translator and aide._

  
Amaya had stood stock still for a long moment before replying back quickly with a beatific grin, _Finally, someone who makes a lick of sense around here._ _And you don't have to call me General—Amaya is fine_.

 

Gods, how many years ago had it been?

 

There are days in the dungeon when Gren imagines her there with him. Sometimes he dreams about rescuing Amaya from the same manacles that have bound him for so many days on end. It’s a silly dream: one where Gren plays the hero and Amaya swoons in his arms.

 

Gren has never seen Amaya swoon for anyone or anything. It’s impressive and mildly daunting.

 

Honestly, Gren had hoped that this mission to save Callum and Erzan would be his chance to show Amaya his strength. She’s the best person he knows. If he can reflect some of her leadership through his actions, that’s all he’ll ever dare to ask for.

 

Most of his daydreams, however, come in the form of Amaya rescuing his sorry behind. Like the daydream he’s having right now.

 

“It would be so cool if you were here right now,” Gren sighs.

 

 _I’m right here,_ Amaya signs. She’s cupping his face in her hand. It’s the gentlest thing he’s imagined in days.

 

“You always say that,” Gren mumbles fondly.

 

Which is about when Amaya unlocks his manacles and Gren falls into her arms.

 

Gren has a strange sensation of all the blood rushing to his head and a set of strong arms around his waist, and then—his vision goes dark.

 

* * *

 

 

Someone has their hand on Gren’s forehead. Gren’s eyes flutter open to find the inside of Amaya’s war tent—a familiar and very welcome sight.

 

“I’ve had this dream before,” Gren tells her weakly.

 

Amaya smiles at him. _It was a good dream, then._

 

Gren tries to raise his arms to sign _thank you_ but winces immediately. His arms barely move an inch, more dead weight than anything else.

 

Amaya frowns. _The healers say it will take a few days to feel whole again_.

 

“Great,” Gren grits out sarcastically, though a deep guilt settles in the pit of his stomach. Even more of a burden than usual, Gren. Strong work. “What happened?”

 

Amaya sits up him as she explains, _I told y_ _ou to never address me as General. I knew something was strange about your last letter._ Her eyes crinkle at the edges as she smiles at him. Gren spots a healing wound that trails down the side of her cheek. _Didn’t I tell you not to trust Viren?_

 

Gren wants to smile back at her, wants to laugh with relief that his subtle hints at subterfuge went unnoticed by everyone except Amaya. But that light, mirthful part of his heart is empty right now. All he can feel is guilt: guilt that he couldn’t get the better of Viren. Guilt that he put his best friend in danger rescuing him. Guilt that he can’t even sign for her. Maybe he is useless after all.

 

Gren reaches up and hovers his fingers over Amaya’s cheek. “You got hurt.”

 

Amaya rolls her eyes. _It’s nothing._

 

It’s not nothing. It’s just another thing Gren is responsible for.

 

Gren drops his hand and looks away. “I’m so sorry, Amaya.”

 

 _For what?_ Amaya looks confused.

 

“How many men did you lose storming Katoris Castle?” Gren asks stiffly. When Amaya stays quiet, Gren grits his teeth. “How many people I knew?”

 

Trouble crosses Amaya’s face and Gren knows the answer is bad. _Too many_ , she admits.

 

“This can’t happen again,” Gren says. He experimentally adjusts his arms, and they respond slowly, like they’re moving through molasses. He attempts to sign _I quit_ but his fingers don’t want to move the way he knows they need to. Regardless, Amaya gets the first word.

 

 _Stay with me_ , Amaya blurts out.

 

Gren has his pointer and middle finger tucked into his clasped thumb when he registers what she said. “Excuse me?”

 

Amaya’s hands are moving like lightning, as fast as a horse galloping across the grassy plains. _I am General Amaya, leader of the Standing Battalion. I am known throughout the Human Lands as one of, if not the most skilled fighter on this side of the Border. My men respect me as a warrior and a member of the royal house of Katoris. Elves fear me. There is no room for error._

 

When Amaya reaches out to touch the center of his chest, her hands are shaking. Gren covers her hand with his own. His shoulders burn with the effort, but her skin is warm beneath his fingertips. Her accompanying smile is worth the pain.

 

 _I have made myself hard over the years. Sometimes I see Sarai’s statue and think I am not so far off._ _But this is what I must become to lead our troops_. Amaya purses her lips. _You are the one soft thing I have ever allowed for myself._

 

“Oh,” Gren says quietly.

 

 _So don’t quit,_ Amaya begs. _Stay with me._ She pauses. _Stay for me._

 

Gren squeezes her hand. His heart is breaking for everything Amaya has sacrificed. He knew that her road had been hard, had witnessed it himself by her side for so many years. But this is the first time that she has admitted self-doubt in front of him. “I make you weaker.”

 

 _No._ And now she’s beaming down at him. _You make me strong._

 

Gren isn’t sure he understands, but he does—with great effort—take Amaya’s face in his hands. His shoulders still burn with the effort, but he pays the pain no mind.

 

 _Your arms,_ Amaya warns, a concerned furrow in the space between her brows.

 

“I’ll live,” Gren promises.

 

Gren has had dreams like this before: dreams where he overcomes his terror and gives in to his heart. But Amaya feels real enough under his fingertips, and if this is a dream—Gren doesn’t need to wake up.

 

He kisses her and—ever so slightly—the world tilts off its axis.

 

The fact that Amaya’s kiss is gentle would shock anyone besides Gren. _You are the one soft thing I have ever allowed for myself_. The words echo in Gren’s head, and when he kisses her back, again and again, he makes a decision.

 

When Amaya finally pulls back, her lips are flushed and bright red from use. It’s a beautiful look for a beautiful woman. She laughs at Gren’s expression, and Gren thinks he must have the most idiot expression on his face right now.

 

 _You look drunk_ , she says with a smile.

 

“You look beautiful,” Gren tells her.

 

Amaya blushes a scarlet red before putting a hand on his heart. _You don’t have to say that._

 

“I really do,” Gren murmurs.

 

Amaya pushes him backwards, hand pressing his chest down against the floor. _You don’t have to say it because I can read it all over your face._

 

It’s Gren’s turn to flush as Amaya straddles him. “Oh,” he says smartly. “Okay. Good to know.”

 

Amaya dips her head down to kiss Gren’s neck, and Gren can’t help but whisper out of Amaya’s eye-line, “I’d do anything to keep you safe.” Amaya must feel the vibrations of the words against her neck, because she pulls back to look at Gren with a question in her eyes.

 

Amaya doesn’t ask him what he said. She knows the answer—she’s always known the answer.

 

 _Love you too,_ she says quickly. Then they are both quiet for a long while.

 


End file.
